


Here's to Living in the Moment, Cause it Passed

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically filling in the blanks from 3x06, from when Ian got to the Milkovich house until Terry arrived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's to Living in the Moment, Cause it Passed

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this one came from a song by Jimmy Eat World called 'Carry You'. It looks like I've entered a phase in my life where almost everything I listen to reminds me of Gallavich.

Mickey Milkovich was nervous, something that happened almost never. He could feel this weird... fluttery feeling in his stomach. Was this what people meant when they talked about having fuckin’ butterflies?

Butterflies, his bullet-ridden ass.

He felt sick and excited, terrified and elated, all at once. He sat on the couch, attempting to feign a nonchalance he didn’t even come close to feeling. Mickey didn’t know why it was so important that he play it cool; not like there was anyone there to see him acting like a middle school girl on a date with her first crush. He shifted restlessly, flipping through the channels of the muted tv. That didn’t last long. Mickey let out a little growl of frustration before getting to his feet. He went back to what he’d been doing before: wearing a hole in their shitty carpet. 

Mickey didn’t know what the fuck he’d been thinking when he’d invited Ian to spend a couple of nights at his place. See, Mickey was usually impulsive; most of the shit he said and did was off the cuff.

Fucking Gallagher that first time? Totally spontaneous.

The shit he’d said to the redhead before he’d gone back to juvie the second time? He definitely hadn’t thought that through.

Knocking that nasty old fucker who’d been molesting Ian on his ass? Most fun he’d had in weeks, but totally unplanned.

But Mickey had actually thought this shit through, had been waiting for the opportunity for weeks. So when that CPS skank had shown up at the Gallagher house, and Terry had announced that he was taking his older sons out of town for a few days, it had seemed like kismet, or some shit. Mickey had asked Mandy if he could have the house for a few days. He knew that she’d been curious, but she hadn’t asked any questions. Said something about staying with that douche Lip for a few days.

So, for the first time in his memory, Mickey had planned something, and things seemed to be falling into place. Now, all he had to do was wait for Gallagher to hurry his ass up, and get here.

Asking Ian to come over had been a head fuck too. He’d only been half-listening to the other boy bitching about the group home; Mickey had been having an internal debate over whether he should just blow the whole fuckin’ thing off. No harm, no foul, if Gallagher didn’t know about it, right?

It was just... Mickey wanted them to be able to do normal shit together, without having to worry about people walking in on them, without having to come up with half-assed explanations for why they were hanging out. Mickey would be able to pretend that his father wasn’t a homophobic asshole. They could spend some time in a make believe world where no one could care that he liked having another dude’s dick up his ass.

That’s all Mickey wanted. A few nights where he wouldn’t have to hide.

A series of sharp raps at the front door nearly had Mickey jumping out of his skin. Ian had finally arrived. For a second, Mickey couldn’t move. He was suddenly hit with this feeling. He didn’t know what to call it... longing, maybe? Jesus Christ, that was so fuckin’ gay. Still, even though Mickey knew that it couldn’t lead to anything good, all he wanted to do was grab Ian and pull him into the peaceful, temporary bubble he’d managed to create. And for them to both stay there, for as long as they could. 

The sound of yet more knocking shook Mickey from his reverie. He rubbed a hand roughly over his face before hurrying to open the door. And there, on Mickey’s front porch, stood Ian. The other boy glanced over at him and smiled. It was sweet and open, and it made Mickey wanna hit the redhead, because it almost made him smile back.

Fighting the urge, Mickey scowled at Ian instead. “Took you fuckin’ long enough.” He moved aside to let Ian in.

Gallagher rolled his eyes as he stepped inside, his shoulder brushing against Mickey. As he headed towards Mickey’s bedroom to drop his shit off, he called over his shoulder, “So, uh, when’s your dad getting back?”

“Should be Saturday,” Mickey answered. He bit his bottom lip; he didn’t wanna spend too much time thinking about Terry. For the next couple days, he was gonna pretend the asshole was dead. He looked up to see Ian ambling from his room towards the living room. Mickey forced the next words out of his mouth.

“You can... stay ‘til then. If you want.” He couldn’t meet Ian’s gaze as he said it, moving towards the kitchen to find something to do with his hands. Mickey didn’t like saying shit like this, it made him feel vulnerable. But, at the same time, he wanted Ian to know that he had the option of sleeping somewhere relatively safe.

“Thanks,” Gallagher murmured. They stood there in silence for a moment, with Ian leaning against the wall and Mickey determinedly not looking at him. Finally, the other boy broke the quiet. 

‘So... what are we gonna do now?”

Mickey looked up from under his lashes to find Ian staring at him intently. He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, I don’t know ‘bout you, man, but I’m fuckin’ starved.” Mickey headed to the freezer to begin riffling through it for the pizza rolls. “And I was thinkin’ that we could maybe, y’know, watch a movie or somethin’.” Still not looking at Gallagher. Although that was probably smart; there were days where he half expected to find fuckin’ severed body parts in the freezer.

Luckily for Mickey’s fragile peace of mind, Gallagher didn’t bust his balls for the date-like turn their night had taken. Instead, the redhead asked, “What were you thinkin’, Universal Soldier?”

“Nah, man. Under Siege.”

“With Seagal?” Ian asked dubiously. Mickey looked up in time to see the other boy pulling a face. 

“Oh, come on. Dude’s a total fuckin’ badass.”

And then they were off, arguing the merits of Seagal versus Van Damme. Mickey could feel the tension draining out of him. In that moment, they weren’t fuck buddies, they weren’t two guys who tolerated each other for Mandy’s sake. They were friends.

“You are out of your mind,” Mickey told Ian as he pizza rolls out of the oven. “Have you seen that fuckin’ ponytail? That’s a powerful ponytail, man. That’s bullshit. Seagal could totally kick Van Damme’s ass.”

“Unless it was Double Impact Van Damme. That’s some Van double Damme,” Ian said with a laugh. 

Mickey rolled his eyes and fought back his own grin. Redhead was such a fuckin’ dork. He headed with the tray of pizza rolls towards where Gallagher was sitting. He dumped the thing on the coffee table, before dropping down next to the other boy. He took a swig of beer before muttering, “Fuck Van Damme.”

They spent the next hour and some minutes watching the movie. And even though Mickey had won the debate over what to put on, he wasn’t really paying much attention to the tv. He kept sneaking glances at Ian from the corner of his eye, relishing in the tingling he felt whenever their fingers brushed as they passed the cigarette they were sharing back and forth between them. But the biggest thrill came when Mickey caught Ian staring at him. Their eyes would meet, and they’d smile, and then they’d look away real fast.

It was so fuckin’ gay. And Mickey couldn’t bring himself to care.

For the first time he could remember, Mickey felt light, bouncy... normal. He knew that it wouldn’t last, that Terry would come home in a few days, and Mickey’d be back to being careful, back to hiding and lying. But in spite of that, or maybe because of it, Mickey wanted to hold on to this feeling, experience more of it.

And that was why, once shit had finally stopped exploding on screen, Mickey grabbed the redhead’s wrist when he made to get up from the couch. Ian looked at him questioningly, but whatever he was about to say died in his throat when Mickey moved to kneel between his legs.

He watched Gallagher swallow convulsively. When he did manage to speak, his voice was high with surprise. “Mick, what’re you...” His voice trailed off when Mickey began working at the button of his jeans.

Mickey knew why the other boy was so taken aback. While Mickey was obviously a huge fan of Ian sucking him off, he’d never given any indication of wanting to return the favour. And like so much else between them, the issue had gone unmentioned. 

But Mickey had found himself thinking about it more and more. Imagined what Ian would taste and feel like; fanaticised about the sounds the other boy would make, and what he’d look like as Mickey sucked his dick.

Mickey had jerked off to the idea more than once.

He finally got Ian’s pants undone, and began to push the restrictive fabric away from the redhead’s now straining erection. Gallagher lifted his hips without a word, allowing Mickey to reveal Ian’s cock to his gaze.

Fuck

Gallagher was big; Mickey knew that. He’d marveled over that fact more than once when he’d felt the other boy push inside him, stretching him until he thought he’d die. But the prospect of taking that thick length into his mouth was a little intimidating, especially since it was the first time he’d ever done something like this.

Mickey heard Ian’s groan when he nervously licked his lips, and it the sound gave Mickey the nerve to lean forward. Slowly, tentatively, he ran his tongue up the length of the other boy’s dick. The skin was hot and soft; something about the taste made him do it again, along the other side.

Ian made a breathless sound in the back of his throat; his hips arched helplessly, and Mickey could feel long fingers threading through his hair. He wasn’t sure where to go from here, and he wavered uncertainly.

Mickey felt a gentle tug on his hair, forcing him to look up. He did so reluctantly, not wanting to see laughter or, God forbid, dissatisfaction. Instead, the heated look on Ian’s face made Mickey’s dick throb. The other boy looked hungry. 

Ian ran his thumb along Mickey’s bottom lip until his mouth parted involuntarily. He felt Gallagher slip inside, and Mickey instinctively sucked on the digit. He heard Ian’s breath catch, and a slightly giddy feeling stole over him. By the sounds of it, he, Mickey Milkovich, was turning the young man underneath him inside out.  
Gallagher leaning in and growling in his ear, “I want you to suck my dick”, further supported this theory.

Mickey felt a shiver running up his spine at the words and tone. As Ian’s thumb slipped free from his mouth, Mickey moved to take Ian in. To Mickey’s surprise, he found that this was really turning him on: making Ian feel good suffused him with this sense of... pride. His whole life, he’d been using his fists; it’d never occurred to him, really, that he could give someone else pleasure.

Mickey opened his mouth to allow the tip of Ian’s cock inside. And then he began to suck experimentally. He quickly flicked his tongue across the head, and was satisfied to hear Ian’s hoarse, “Fuck!” Mickey wanted to smile; instead, he took Ian deeper into his mouth.

Mickey worked Ian’s dick slowly, getting himself comfortable, and trying to get an idea of what would drive the other boy crazy. He found that if he sucked hard on Gallagher’s dick, and tugged gently at his balls, the redhead’s hips would buck wildly. But Mickey hit paydirt when he moved his fingers behind Ian’s sack to rub his perineum. The other boy’s control snapped.

Mickey felt fingers tightening in his hair as Gallagher began to fuck his mouth. One particularly deep thrust took Ian to the back of Mickey’s throat, and he couldn’t help gagging a little. Ian pulled away immediately.

“Fuck,” Gallagher panted. “Shit, Mick... I’m sorry.”

Mickey cleared his throat before looking at Ian speculatively. “You think you can rein it in if I tried that again?”

He saw the flush of arousal that spread across the redhead’s face and necked as he nodded frantically.

Mickey leaned in again, taking hold of Ian’s hip in one hand, the base of his cock in the other. Slowly, so slowly, Mickey worked his way down Gallagher’s length. He had to pull back at one point, just to breathe. Shit. How did people fuckin’ do this?

Mickey ducked down to try again, but Gallagher stopped him, hands moving to cup his face. Before he could flinch away, Ian brushed a fleeting kiss to his lips. He whispered at Mickey’s ear, “Breathe through your nose and relax your throat, okay? And when you feel me at the back of your throat... swallow.”

Mickey gave a dazed nod before allowing Ian to guide his head back towards the other boy’s cock. He opened his mouth and tried to follow Ian’s instructions. It took a few tries until Mickey finally got it right: he felt the head of Ian’s dick hit the back of his throat. Hesitantly, he tried to relax, and allowed himself to swallow.

Ian’s reaction sent a jolt of lust through him. The redhead let out a choked cry, his fingers once again tightening in Mickey’s hair. His hips twitched a little, but he managed to keep from thrusting forward. Mickey pulled back, dragging his teeth gently along the underside of Ian’s shaft. Gradually, Mickey began to set a rhythm.  
With every downward slide, he heard Ian gasp. As he drew back, he could feel Ian scrabbling at his shoulders for something to hold onto. Soon, all of Mickey’s attention was focused solely on Ian, on the sight, smell, sound, taste and feel of the other boy. Mickey moaned low in his throat. 

By this point, Mickey was so hard he hurt. He was just about to reach down to undo his own jeans, when Ian pulled Mickey’s head away from his cock. He let out a little whimper of protest, a sound that was quickly cut off by Ian’s mouth on his. Mickey was too turned on to do anything more than clutch the redhead to him.

After a breathless moment, Ian wrenched away from him. He was panting. Standing up on unsteady feet, the other boy reached down to pull Mickey up with him. As they stumbled along to Mickey’s room, they kicked off their shoes and pants, tugged off their shirts. By the time they made it to the bed, they were both naked and straining against each other.

The feel of Gallagher’s hands roaming, clutching at Mickey’s hips, his shoulders, their cocks rubbing together, was enough to make Mickey insane.

“Ian, please,” he breathed. “I need...” he trailed off, finding it hard to speak through the wave of lust and longing.

“Get on the bed,” the redhead ordered. “No,” he barked when Mickey made to get down on his hands and knees. “I want you on your back.”

A shudder ran through Mickey at the words. He held Ian’s gaze as he slowly lay down on his back. Shamelessly, Mickey spread his legs in invitation, too far gone to care about how vulnerable he was making himself.

It took Ian a few seconds to find the lube, and even less time for him to position himself between Mickey’s legs. The redhead squirted some lube on his palm, and hastily slicked himself up. He then probed Mickey’s clenching hole with slippery fingers. Ian didn’t hesitate; in one smooth motion, he had thrust two fingers inside Mickey. The stretched feeling made his eyes roll back in his head. Jesus Christ, he needed Ian’s dick in him. Now.

Before Mickey could bark at Ian to hurry the fuck up, he felt long fingers brushing at his prostate. The impatient words were stolen from his mouth as he bit he bottom lip to keep a harsh cry from escaping.

Thankfully, Gallagher wasn’t in any mood to tease. He simply stretched Mickey enough that he’d be able to take Ian’s dick without it hurting. The fingers torturing him were abruptly removed from his hole, and Mickey couldn’t hold back the little whine that left his throat. The empty feeling fucked with his head even worse than the redhead’s fingers.

Ian leaned over Mickey, bracing himself on one hand, while the other positioned the head of his cock at Mickey’s entrance. The feel of the blunt tip nudging at him made Mickey pant. He wrapped his legs around Ian and tried to force the other boy’s cock inside him. To Mickey’s relief, Gallagher didn’t resist, just sank into him. He hadn’t realised that he’d been holding his breath until he felt Ian bottom out; Mickey exhaled shakily. And then he did something he’d never done before: he wrapped his arms around Ian and held him close.

Neither of them moved, just absorbing the feel of each other.

Mickey felt a pair of lips trailing along his neck before Ian began to move. Fuck knew where the other boy found the control, because it started out slow and easy, bordering on tender. The feelings the redhead stirred inside him made something in his chest constrict. No, he... he couldn’t deal with it like this. So he dug his fingers into Ian’s shoulders, and pressed his heels against Ian’s ass.

“Faster,” Mickey panted. “Go deep...”

Ian didn’t hesitate, and had soon set a rough, pounding rhythm. Mickey groaned. Yeah, this was what he needed, what he was used to. But still... there was something different. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was it just felt like... more. He couldn’t describe it. The sex was still amazing, still made him gasp and claw at Gallagher’s shoulders, but it wasn’t about fucking anymore.

Every caress and brush of his lips felt like Ian was asking him something, and with every gasp and moan Mickey was answering.

He tried to shut off his brain, muffle that stupid fuckin’ feeling in his chest, as he reached down to jerk his cock in time with Ian’s thrusts. It didn’t take long, between his hand on his dick, and Ian nailing his prostate with every rough stroke. Mickey came, hard, and the habit of him having to keep quiet had him biting down on that spot between Ian’s neck and shoulder. He felt cum spurting up his chest and dribbling between his fingers. 

Mickey could feel his body clenching around Ian’s dick. He wanted to feel the other boy let go, to hear the helpless groans and gasps escaping him. Mickey wanted to know that he’d been the one to make the other boy come undone. 

“Come on, Gallagher,” he growled. When the redhead continued to hold on, Mickey trailed his hand down Ian’s back to grip his ass. “Ian... fucking cum... please,” he begged.

That set Ian off. He made a hoarse sound in the back of his throat. He clutched at Mickey tightly; he was probably going to leave bruises. Mickey relished the thought.

Finally, the both went still, limp in each other’s arms. Only their heaving breaths broke the silence. Ian was the first to recover, and he reluctantly lifted his head. Their gazes met and held, and the quiet suddenly became heavy with some emotion Mickey couldn’t name. Slowly, carefully, Ian reached out to touch his face.

Mickey couldn’t help it: he panicked a little.

“Nice job, Firecrotch,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh. He couldn’t look at the other boy anymore.

He heard a slightly exasperated sigh, and Ian’s weight shifted, pulling away from him. Mickey immediately missed having the redhead’s warm, firm body on top of his. Before he could think better of it, he blurted out, “You can sleep with”—deep breath—“with me. If you wanna.”

He saw Ian’s back stiffen, and wanted to kick himself. Jesus, what the fuck had made him think that saying shit like that was okay? He was just about to say something dismissive, blow the whole thing off, when Gallagher turned to look at him. His expression was serious, but his eyes were warm.

“Okay,” he said casually. Like Mickey hadn’t made a complete ass of himself; as though Mickey hadn’t just invited Ian to sleep in his bed so they could fucking cuddle or some shit.

Thank fuck.

Because, as usual, Ian had seen through him. The other boy knew Mickey well enough by now to be able to tell that he’d freaked himself out. And Ian cared enough to put Mickey at ease by shrugging the whole thing off.

They left it at that. Ian padded out of the room, and after a few seconds Mickey could hear him moving around in the bathroom. Mickey shivered slightly. He was cold without Ian next to him. After what felt like forever, Ian came back carrying a damp towel. He handed it to Mickey without a word, and the silence once again stretched between them.

Mickey dropped the towel to the floor, and crawled beneath the covers. “You getting in, or you gonna stand there all night?” he tossed over his shoulder.

He held his breath as he felt Ian hesitate. Finally, he felt the covers being drawn back, and the bed dip under the other boy’s weight. Ian got in carefully, purposely not touching Mickey. They lay there stiffly before Mickey let out a little huff. He couldn’t fuckin’ believe he was doing this, but somebody had to take the initiative, and it didn’t look like it was gonna be Gallagher.

Steeling himself like he was about to rob a bank solo, Mickey scooted backwards towards Ian. He could feel the redhead’s surprise at the tentative way a freckled arm slipped around his waist. When Mickey didn’t stop him, or shove him away, the other boy inched closer, until they were pressed up against each other.

They were tense for a few more moments, until they gradually began to relax. Mickey could feel Ian’s breath on the back of his neck. Hesitantly, he reached down to trail his fingers along the arm wrapped around him. Christ, this was so incredibly gay. And yet, nothing short of a fire in the house would’ve made him move—and it’d have to be a big fuckin’ fire.

It took a while for them both to settle, and after a few minutes, Mickey felt himself begin to drift off. The last thing he was aware of was Ian’s warm, comforting presence behind him.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
When Mickey woke up the next morning, he was slightly disoriented. He felt someone in bed with him, an arm draped across him.

What the fuck?

But before Mickey could jerk away, he remembered: Ian. Ian was lying next to him; it was Ian holding onto him. A feeling of comfort and safety stole over Mickey, something he hadn’t experienced in this house since his mom had died. 

So instead of pulling back, pushing Ian away, Mickey settled himself more comfortably against the other boy. He was on the verge of dozing again when he felt Ian shift behind him. Gallagher carefully began removing his arm from around Mickey, clearly trying not to wake him. Mickey felt a slight smile touch his lips.

“Wha’cha doin’, Gallagher?” he mumbled drowsily.

Ian froze behind him. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Did I wake you up?” he asked, rubbing an apologetic hand along Mickey’s arm.

“Nah.” Mickey rolled over with sleepy sigh. Staring down at him was a pair of brown eyes, crinkled at the corners. Ian was smiling at him. Mickey had the retarded, girly thought that that expression could probably rival the sun streaming in through the gap in the curtains.

They lay there looking at each other for what seemed like forever. Surprisingly, Ian broke the moment. Rolling off the bed, he headed to the bathroom.

“What’s for breakfast?” he called out.

Mickey paused mid-stretch. He smirked slightly before answering. “I already made you dinner. The fuck else you want from me?”

Ian came out of the bathroom grinning. He left Mickey to do his thing, and when Mickey found the redhead again, Ian was rummaging around the kitchen, bare-ass naked. Mickey took a moment to admire the sight.

Gallagher turned around, holding up a box of Lucky Charms. “This seriously all you got?” The other boy sounded less than impressed.

“Better than that shit they’d feed you at the group home,” Mickey pointed out. 

Ian conceded the point, and poured a bowl for each of them. They sat in his father’s kitchen, both of them stark fuckin’ naked, eating breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Once they were done, Gallagher picked up the dishes and head to the sink. While the redhead was occupied, Mickey quickly headed back to his room. Halfway under his bed, beneath a loose floorboard, Mickey kept his stash: a vibrator, a dildo or two, some porn, and his ben wa beads. 

Mickey grabbed the beads before making sure the rest of the stuff was hidden. He found Ian in the living room, checking his phone.

“Alright, I gotta get to work,” the redhead told him casually. 

“Alright, just... in a minute, okay? You wanna, uh, do the honours?” Mickey gave Gallagher a suggestive look as he help up the string of beads.

Ian’s brow furrowed in confusion. Reaching out, he took the beads from Mickey, examining them closely. 

“Is it a rosary for giants?” he finally asked, holding them up against Mickey’s throat like a necklace.

Mickey let out a little laugh. “No. Nah, man. They’re, uh, ben wa beads. You shove ‘em in my ass, and pull ‘em out real slow.”

Ian seemed to consider this for a moment. He looked up from the beads before cocking his head. “How is that fun for me?” Gallagher asked, a little shit-eating grin curving his lips. He tossed the ben wa beads aside, and a quick glance down showed Mickey that the redhead was rearing to go.

Ian grabbed his wrist, tugging Mickey towards the couch. “Come on,” Mickey complained as he allowed Ian to steer him and bend him over. “Alright, okay. Just go east on the injured cheek.”

“I’ll just go on the other one, alright?” Ian assured him.

Mickey could feel the head of Ian’s cock probing at his entrance. Biting his lip, he pushed his hips back, encouraging the other boy to shove inside him.  
Without warning, they heard someone at the door. The sound had Mickey’s blood turning to ice. He felt Ian jerking away from him, heard him hastily reaching for his clothes.

Mickey couldn’t breathe as everything turned to shit around him.

Their moment had passed.

“What the fuck?” Terry yelled. Disbelief was quickly giving way to fury.

“Dad, hold on. Hold on!” Mickey knew that words were coming out of his mouth, but he was barely aware of what he was saying. He needed to distract his father, because fuck knew he wouldn’t be able to explain, to convince his father that it wasn’t what Terry thought.

Mickey could feel his hands trembling.

He heard Terry screaming, but the words didn’t register. Shock and terror had him frozen. For a second, all Mickey could do was stare in horror at Terry barrelling towards them, and Ian scrambling to get dressed.

And then Terry’s fist drew back.

That jolted Mickey like nothing else could have, seeing those hated hands hurting Ian. Without thinking, Mickey leaped on Terry’s back, struggling to get him away from the other boy. Mickey hoped like hell that Ian would just grab his shit and get the fuck outta there.

“Get the fuck off him! Get off him!” Mickey yelled.

He managed to overbalance his father, and they fell back onto the other couch. Before Mickey could do anything to defend himself, Terry had rolled over.  
Familiar fists slammed into Mickey’s face. He was used to his father knocking him around, but this time was different. He was pretty sure Terry was gonna kill him.

Terry’s face was red, and his eyes were bulging as he bellowed, “No son of mine is goin’ to be a goddamn AIDS monkey!”

Mickey tried to shove the older man off, but he was too heavy. Mickey’s arms fell limply to his sides as his head began to swim. He didn’t know what weighed more: his father on top of him, or the knowledge that Terry was gonna take both him and Ian out over this.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey saw Ian running past them, not out the front door, but towards Mickey’s room; no doubt looking for a weapon. But before the redhead could go any further, Terry whipped out a gun and levelled it at him. 

Ian froze. They all knew that Terry would use it without hesitation.

“Sit your ass down,” Terry rumbled.

Ian backed up slowly, Terry tracking his every movement. For one nauseating moment, Mickey thought that his father was gonna do it: shoot Ian dead in their living room.

No. No, no, no...

Mickey reached up weakly, trying to push Terry away, to distract him enough that Ian could make another run for it, through the front door this time. His father responded to Mickey’s struggles by slamming the butt of the gun into his face.

By this point, Mickey’s head was pounding, and he was barely aware of Terry clambering off him. He was using all his focus to stay conscious. Distantly, he heard Terry speaking.

“It’s Terry. Send over the Russian.” His voice was seething with rage.

Mickey didn’t know what the fuck to make of that. After a little while, he found the strength to sit up a little, but otherwise he remained where he was. Didn’t need to give his father more reason to start shooting.

There was a knock at the door, and Mickey felt the panic creeping up again. Jesus Christ, what if Terry had called up one of his friends to help him take care of Ian? But instead of it being some meathead asshole, a slender young woman in a strapless dress and high heels walked in. Her face was expressionless as she took in the scene.

He shared a confused glance with Ian. What the fuck was goin’ on?

Terry pointed at Mickey. “That one,” he told the girl. His father walked up behind him, telling him grimly, “She’s gonna fuck the faggot outta you, kid.”

Mickey felt a surge of revulsion as the young women walked over to him cautiously. He tried to tell himself that he’d fucked chicks before, that it could be worse, so much worse. His stomach wasn’t buying it.

“Ride him ‘til he likes it, suka,” Terry commanded.

He heard Terry’s voice from behind him again, but his father’s words were directed at Ian this time. “And you’re gonna goddamn watch.”

Mickey watched helplessly as the woman removed her dress. Her hands roughly jerked his boxers off. He fingers twitched, but he offered no resistance. One thing Mickey had learned in his life was that survival trumped everything else. So, he’d grit his teeth and take it; his and Ian’s survival depended on it.

Mickey shuddered as the prostitute climbed onto his lap. He felt her hand on his dick, forcing his body to respond in spite of himself. She smelled like cheap soap and when he met her gaze, he saw that her eyes were dead. Finally, he felt her take him inside, and he almost pushed her off him.

On reflex, his eyes flicked over to Ian. The look on the other boy’s face almost broke him. More than the unwanted weight of the woman on top of him, more than the pain inflicted by his own father’s fists, Ian’s expression made killed a little piece of him.

It was too much. Mickey couldn’t look at Ian anymore, couldn’t deal with how much this hurt.

Steeling himself, he flipped the hooker over. Mickey thrust into her over and over, just wanting to get this over with. He caught a glimpse of his father’s face, the satisfaction there. Mickey clenched his eyes shut, fighting back a wave of loathing, for himself or Terry, he wasn’t sure.

And then, finally, it was done. He climbed off the hooker, and fell back against the couch. Underneath the numbness that had taken hold of him, Mickey was plagued with an almost desperate urge to shower, to make the water as hot as it would go and wash the feeling of the woman off him. 

Mickey was only vaguely aware of the prostitute getting up and getting dressed. He just stared at a spot on the carpet, trying not to think too hard about what had happened.

Mickey could feel Ian’s eyes on him, but he didn’t have the strength to meet that gaze. He was terrified of what he’d see: disgust? Betrayal? God help, him hurt? Even worse, what would Ian see when he looked at Mickey?

No. Better to pretend Ian wasn’t there.

Mickey startled a little at Terry’s growled voice.

“Get the fuck outta my house.”

The words were aimed at Ian. Mickey saw the redhead dressing hastily in his periphery. In a matter of minutes, Ian was heading for the door. Mickey hadn’t been able to meet his eyes once.

Fucking pussy, he thought, feeling a flood of shame wash over him. 

Mickey was just about to get off the couch, get out of this room, get away from his father, when Terry grabbed him.

With a firm grip on Mickey’s hair, the older man spat, “I catch you with that little faggot again, I’ll fucking bury him.” Terry shook him roughly. “You fuckin’ understand me?”

“Yeah,” Mickey croaked. His father held him there for a moment before shoving him away. The older man stalked out the house, slamming the door behind him.

Leaving Mickey alone with the smell of sex, blood, and cheap perfume.


End file.
